


You Don’t Have to Be Lonely

by al_ex_an_d_er_hamiltons



Series: There Was A Farmer Who Had Some Goats And Patrick Was His Name-o [1]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, He Has a Farmer’s Tan and a Dog, M/M, Patrick is a Farmer, Using the patented Dan J Levy method of constructing a timeline which is to say it does not exist, brief mentions of blood and minor injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27027742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/al_ex_an_d_er_hamiltons/pseuds/al_ex_an_d_er_hamiltons
Summary: Something about this quiet stranger’s easy manner and gentle teasing had instilled a quietude within David, easing the ever-present thrum of panic and imparting a sense of peace he’d been scrambling for since he came to Schitt’s Creek.Or, what if, instead of imposing on the Amish, David ended up at the house of a lonely, newly-single goat farmer when the truck broke down at the end of season one?
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: There Was A Farmer Who Had Some Goats And Patrick Was His Name-o [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2001085
Comments: 80
Kudos: 243





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently, tweeting every stupid thought that crosses my mind pays off sometimes. Not really edited, any mistakes are my own.

David’s head came to rest on the steering wheel with a thunk, causing the horn to start wailing. He couldn’t really bring himself to care; there were no other cars around for miles. Of  _ course  _ the truck broke down two hours into the journey.

David sat for a moment, weighing his options. What options are there, he thought bitterly, other than to call someone to come rescue him? 

With a sigh, he pulled his phone out, and barely suppressed a scream of rage when he discovered the battery was dead. And of  _ course  _ Roland didn’t have a charger in his ancient truck. 

It was the spoiled icing on top of the rotten cake that had been the past year of David’s life. 

He hopped out of the truck, and considered peeking under the hood for a moment before he remembered that would do him absolutely no good since he knew nothing about cars. 

It was just starting to get dark, the sun nearly completely gone, but David could still just barely make out the shape of a farmhouse he’d passed just up the road. At the very least, maybe whomever lived there would let him borrow their phone. David hurried towards the house, swatting away nighttime insects, his head on a swivel as if he expected to be attacked by a wild animal at any second. 

As he approached the house, he noticed a few small outbuildings and the gamey smell of farm animals. Wrinkling his nose, he stepped up onto the porch, lifted his fist, and knocked loudly. 

He heard the sound of footsteps echo through the house, and the front porch light flicked on, temporarily blinding David. A moment later the door opened, and David blinked, his vision clearing enough to reveal a young man eyeing him. He was cute in a wholesome sort of way, with large, dark eyes and a compact build. He had a backwards baseball cap covering a head full of curls, a dish towel thrown over one shoulder. The smell of something delicious and the sound of music wafted out the door, and David’s stomach roiled with hunger- and guilt, for interrupting this stranger’s dinner. 

“Can I help you?” The man was polite but wary, one hand on the doorknob, leaving the screen door shut between them. 

“I um. I think I ran out of gas? Or my truck broke down? I’m not really sure what’s wrong with it, honestly…” David trailed off, waving a hand vaguely in the direction of the road. “And um. My phone died.”

The man’s expression softened, and David’s skin prickled with discomfort at the pitying look in his eyes. 

“I was just wondering if I could use your phone to call someone,” David finished lamely, shame and embarrassment coursing through him, and suddenly he felt like he might cry. 

The man nodded, unlatching the screen door and holding it open, inviting David in. 

“Oh,” David grimaced. “I can wait out here if- if that’s okay? Not that I don’t trust you, um-?”

“Patrick. My name is Patrick.”

“Right. Patrick. I’m just already wildly outside of my comfort zone approaching a stranger’s house in the middle of nowhere, so…” David trailed off awkwardly, and the ghost of a smile flashed across the guy-Patrick’s- face, but was gone again in an instant.

“Sure,” he said, nodding in understanding. “It’s just that I only have a landline and the cord doesn’t stretch all the way to the porch, so…” 

David’s jaw dropped. “You only have a  _ landline? _ In 2015?” 

Patrick shrugged, grimacing. “Cell service sucks this far out. Didn’t really see the point.” With that, he turned and started walking towards the interior of the house without so much as a backwards glance to see if David was following him. 

David weighed his options for a few seconds. He could either get eaten by a bear or a coyote or a werewolf trying to walk back to civilization, he reasoned, or he could potentially get murdered by a cute stranger. With a sigh, David pulled the screen door open and stepped inside the farmhouse. 

David followed the sounds of footsteps down the hall and found himself in a kitchen. It was cozy, if a bit outdated, bathed in golden light and full of the smell of whatever was bubbling away on the stove. A record player crackled from on top of a sideboard separating the kitchen and living room, Joni Mitchell crooning about old friends acting strange. 

Patrick was stirring something in the pot, fiddling with the burner dial and turning it down. “The phone is over there.” He nodded towards a corded telephone mounted on the wall, giving David a small smile before turning his focus back to the stove. 

“Thank you,” David responded quietly, stepping towards the phone. He dialed Alexis’s number, getting her voicemail. He swallowed, closing his eyes and sighing as he waited for the beep. “Alexis, it’s David. Call me back at this number as soon as you can. Please.” 

He then tried his dad’s, then his mom’s. David’s stomach tightened with each passing ring, dread settling in like a block of ice. He watched Patrick as he puttered around the kitchen, flipping the record, putting pasta on the stove to boil, then chopping ingredients for a salad. 

By time David left his third message, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice, Patrick had set the small scrubbed wooden table with two place settings. The shame burned brighter in David’s stomach, embarrassed that he was clearly interrupting this kind stranger’s evening plans. 

“No answer?” Patrick asked as David hung up the receiver. He was watching David, settled back against the counter with his arms folded across his chest. They were nice arms, David mused, well-toned in the soft-looking blue Henley he wore. 

David shook his head, looking down at his hands and twisting his rings around on his fingers. “No,” he said softly, then cleared his throat. “But thanks for letting me use your phone, anyways.” He gestured awkwardly towards the front of the house. “I’ll let you get back to your evening.” 

Patrick’s eyebrows furrowed. “Wait, I mean. Where are you going to go for the night?” 

David shrugged, trying to come across as unbothered and nonchalant as panic thrummed just under the surface of his skin. “The truck. I can start back towards town when it’s light out.” 

Patrick eyed him skeptically. “You’re going to walk back towards town?” 

David went into defensive mode, crossing his own arms across his chest. “Yes? What’s wrong with that?”

“Do you know which direction ‘town’ is in?” 

There was a beat of silence, and David rolled his eyes sullenly. 

Patrick nodded, as if this confirmed something. 

“Look-David, was it? It’s late, and your family doesn’t seem to be answering the phone. Why don’t you crash here tonight and I can give you a lift to town in the morning?”

“No, I couldn’t do that,” David shook his head emphatically, gesturing to the place settings on the table. “I don’t want to interrupt you any more than I already have.” 

Patrick’s forehead creased as he followed David’s gaze to the table. “Oh. No, you’re not interrupting. I kind of figured from what I could hear of your phone calls that you weren’t having much luck getting in touch with anyone and you might, um. Want some dinner.” He said it shyly, head ducked slightly, biting his bottom lip. 

David was taken aback and somewhat suspicious of the kindness Patrick was extending. He arched an eyebrow, twisting the ring on his thumb around and around as he held Patrick’s gaze. Patrick didn’t seem dissuaded, his eye contact steady and sure. 

“How do I know you’re not a serial killer or something?” David finally asked.

“You’re the one who crept out of the darkness and showed up on  _ my  _ doorstep. If anyone is going to be victimized here, I think it’ll be me.” It seemed to David that Patrick had decided the conversation was over, because he grabbed the dishes off the table and started dividing pasta and salad into them. 

David considered this point as he watched Patrick dole out the food, including garlic bread. David’s stomach rumbled loudly. 

“Okay,” he said quietly, sliding into one of the dining chairs. “Fair enough. I will accept your very generous offer of food, but I won’t impose any further on you. I can sleep in the truck.” 

Patrick shrugged as he placed a bowl of pasta in front of David, unbothered. “Suit yourself, but it’s supposed to get down to like 5° tonight.” David watched as he removed his hat, hanging it on the back of his chair before sitting down at the table with his own food. Cute  _ and  _ polite, David thought. 

“I’m sure I’ll be okay,” David murmured, tentatively forking some pasta into his mouth. An embarrassing moan escaped his mouth, and Patrick’s eyebrows practically leapt off his face. 

“Sorry,” David said thickly, swallowing his mouthful of food. “Either I’m hungrier than I realized or this is  _ really  _ good.” 

Patrick shrugged the compliment away, and David was pleased to see an attractive blush coloring his cheekbones. “The sauce is homemade, mostly stuff I grow here.”

“Ah, so you’re a real-life farmer boy?” David stabbed a grape tomato with his fork, popping it into his mouth with a grin on his face. 

Patrick laughed, pulling a hand through his curls, loosening them from where they’d been flattened by his hat. “I guess. I just have a garden and a few goats. A couple of barn cats, and a dog wandering around here somewhere,” Patrick craned his neck, looking under the table and out into the living room adjacent to the kitchen. 

“How quaint,” David quipped, furtively glancing around for the dog as well. He’d meant it as a gentle tease, but Patrick nodded firmly in agreement, his expression sincere. 

“It’s a quiet life but...It gives me a lot of time to think.” 

David was unsure how to respond to that, so he just hummed noncommittally and returned his focus to his food. 

“So what about you?” Patrick asked suddenly after a few minutes of silence. 

“What  _ about  _ me?” David asked warily, cocking one eyebrow, defenses immediately engaged. 

“I mean. What’s your deal? Where did you come from, where are you headed?” Patrick had finished his food, pushing his dishes away and leaning back in his chair slightly. David felt like a spotlight was on him, felt a lick of heat scorching the back of his neck. 

He cleared his throat, averting his gaze from Patrick’s big, dark eyes. “I’m, um. Heading to New York. At least that  _ was _ the plan. A stupid plan, so it seems.”

“What’s in New York?” Patrick seemed genuinely curious, and something about him- his quiet energy, those soulful eyes- made David want to tell him the truth. 

“My old life,” David admitted. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “I kind of fucked things up with my literal only friend here, and I just. Sort of ran away.” 

“Huh,” Patrick murmured, his voice so soft that David felt compelled to open his eyes again and look at him. “I think I can relate to that.” He didn’t offer anything further, and David didn’t pry. 

David finished his food, then he and Patrick circled each other awkwardly as he did his best to help clean up the kitchen. After the leftovers were packed up and the sink was clear of dishes, Patrick proposed a nightcap on the back porch, and David gratefully accepted. 

Patrick handed him a surprisingly nice glass of Malbec, grabbing an IPA for himself from the fridge, and led the way to the back porch, where they settled into splintery Adirondack chairs. 

David expected it to be awkward, but instead it was just...nice. Music from the kitchen was still filtering through the screen door, and late-season lightning bugs winked in the distance. There was a slight breeze, and occasionally David heard the bleat of a goat from one of the nearby barns. David didn’t feel compelled to fill the silence, and neither, apparently, did Patrick. 

After awhile, Patrick excused himself back into the house, reappearing with more wine and another beer for himself. 

David murmured a thank you, ignoring the flush he felt going up his spine when Patrick’s hand brushed his as he handed his glass back. 

Perhaps the alcohol had loosened his inhibitions, or Patrick decided that he should get to know the stranger in his house before he went to sleep that night. Either way, David wasn’t entirely prepared for the intense (if somewhat glassy-eyed) look Patrick fixed him with. 

“So. Do you want to talk about it?” 

David choked on his wine, wincing and clearing his throat. “I’m sorry?” 

Patrick shrugged, fiddling with his half-empty beer bottle, spinning it in place on the arm of his chair. 

“You said you were running away from something. Was just wondering if you wanted to talk about it.”

David narrowed his eyes at Patrick, wondering what he was angling for. “I don’t make it a habit of telling strangers about my personal problems.” 

Patrick shrugged again, completely unbothered, as if to say  _ suit yourself. _ “Fair enough. But at least you know I’d be an objective third party.”

“And how is that, exactly?” 

“I have no reason to take sides.”

David was mildly affronted. “You don’t even  _ know  _ the other person involved.” 

Patrick’s eyes twinkled. “As you pointed out, I’m a stranger to you, as well.” 

David hummed, not exactly placated but knowing he’d been bested. 

“I slept with my only friend in town, didn’t realize she had actual feelings for me, obliviously asked her to come with me to New York as my  _ roommate _ , then ran away instead of actually trying to work through it with her when she told me she wasn’t on the same page.” 

Patrick let out a low whistle. “Well. At least you didn’t break up with your fiancée out of the blue because you finally realized you were gay, then leave town in the middle of wedding planning with no explanation to her or anyone else.” 

David snorted. “Which soap opera did you see  _ that  _ storyline on?” 

“Sunrise Bay,” Patrick said, his tone serious. 

David cocked an eyebrow at him, trying to determine if Patrick had figured out who he was, somehow. “Very funny,” he murmured. 

“Not a fan?” 

DavId squinted at him now. “Are you messing with me?”

Patrick’s forehead creased in what seemed like genuine confusion. “What?”

“Sunrise Bay? Moira Rose? She’s…do you really not know?”

Patrick shrugged, clearly nonplussed. 

David sighed. “My mother is Moira Rose. She played Vivian Blake on Sunrise Bay.”

Patrick’s face broke into an incredulous grin. “No shit? I swear I didn’t know!” 

“Mmhmm,” David hummed skeptically, swirling the dregs of wine in his glass. “I don’t remember that particular storyline, however.” 

“Ah, no, you wouldn’t,” Patrick seemed to be blushing now, rubbing one hand across the back of his neck. “That was-it’s what happened to- well. I left my fiancée. ” 

David was, for once, stunned into momentary silence. Ignoring the part of his brain whose interest was suddenly piqued knowing this cute stranger was gay, he tried for empathy. 

“Are you like. Okay?” 

Patrick huffed out a relieved-sounding laugh, and he was near enough that the sweet smell of beer on his breath ghosted across David’s face. 

“Yeah. Yeah I’m- I’m good. I could have gone about it better but. It needed to be done.” 

David hummed, and they settled into a companionable silence again, broken occasionally only by the sound of crickets in the distance and the record warbling from the kitchen. David felt calm and loose in a way he hadn’t in years -if ever- and allowed himself to settle back against his chair, closing his eyes. 

He must have dozed off, because next thing he knew, Patrick was laying a hand on his shoulder and shaking him gently. 

David yawned and stretched, following Patrick back inside the house. David watched him warily, attempting to school his face into a look of gratitude instead of a grimace as Patrick made a makeshift bed for him out of the couch. Patrick murmured a goodnight to him, turning out the light and going upstairs to the upper level of the house. 

David tossed for a few minutes, certain he would never get to sleep. It was too quiet without Alexis’s soft breathing and the sound of his mother’s white noise machine next door and the occasional slam of a door from another motel patron. But Patrick’s quilt- homemade, from the looks of it- was thick and warm, and the couch was somehow more comfortable than the bed at the motel, and soon David felt himself dragged under by sleep, dreaming of big brown eyes and calloused hands. 

His dreams were suddenly interrupted sometime later, however; Something warm and wet dragged across his forehead and he sat up with a shriek, limbs flailing as he tried to get his bearings in the darkness. 

Footsteps thundered down the steps, and an overhead light clicked on as Patrick skidded into the living room. 

“What’s going on? Are you okay?” 

“I don’t- something woke me up!” David complained, squinting around blearily against the bright light. His gaze finally settled on the most likely culprit- a dog peeking timidly at him from underneath the coffee table. It was medium-sized, floppy-eared dog with liver-and-white spots, and probably would have seemed cute if David wasn’t so annoyed. David gasped, pointing an accusatory finger. 

“ _ That!  _ That is what woke me up!” 

Patrick sighed, scrubbing a hand tiredly across his face. Now that his heart had stopped feeling like it was going to burst out of his chest, David was able to fully process the scene before him. 

Patrick was shirtless, a pair of blue plaid boxer shorts hanging loosely on his hips, hair mussed from sleep. His chest and arms were strong-looking, a light dusting of hair scattered across his pale skin. His forearms were tanned in comparison to the rest of him, and David’s gaze dropped to notice he was holding a baseball bat in one hand. David tried not to feel too endeared by the fact that Patrick had immediately ran to his defense against some unknown threat. 

Patrick turned his gaze to David, shaking his head. “You really screamed because my dog woke you up?” 

David scoffed defensively, throwing his hands up. “Something  _ wet  _ touched my face! While I was dead asleep! Of course I screamed! I wasn’t expecting to be licked by a dog in the middle of the night!” 

Patrick sighed, a look of annoyed disbelief still hanging on his features. “I’m going back to bed,” he said finally, patting his leg to get the dog to follow. 

David bit his lip, feeling only slightly ashamed as he watched Patrick (and his canine companion) meander back towards the stairs, yawning. 

“Hey Patrick?” he called, just as Patrick hit the first step. Patrick paused, turning back to look at him. 

“Yes, David?” he responded patiently. 

“I really thought ‘farmers tan’ was just a phrase,” David tried to keep the laughter out of his voice as he waved a hand towards Patrick’s ridiculous tanlines. “Thank you SO much for proving me wrong.”

Patrick shook his head, his expression amused but exasperated as he started up the stairs. “Goodnight, David.” 

David settled back against the couch cushions, biting back a smile and drifting off to sleep again a short time later. 

* * *

_ “George, no. George, leave him alone!“ _

David awoke again, this time to the sound of someone whispering furiously nearby, and it was morning. He sat up, stretching his arms above his head, gaze landing on Patrick standing in the kitchen, a mug in his hand. 

“Hey, morning. Sorry if I woke you, I was just trying to save you from death by a thousand licks.” Patrick nodded his chin, and David followed his gaze. The dog was standing with his chin propped on the arm of the couch at David’s feet, a doleful look in his big, familiar-looking brown eyes. 

David shuddered theatrically. “Well, thank you for that. Who is he?” 

Patrick laughed, crossing into the living room to sit on a nearby armchair.The dog padded over to him, going belly-up on the floor. “This is George. So named because he’s a springer spaniel.” Patrick patted George’s belly, smiling up at David. 

David stared at Patrick blankly, nonplussed, and Patrick’s smile fell slightly. 

“Like...George Springer?” 

David just shook his head. “Am I supposed to know who that is?” 

“Oh. Not a sports guy, huh?” 

David threw his hands up in exasperation. “Is there  _ anything  _ about me that would lead you to assume I’m a  _ sports guy _ ?” 

Patrick shrugged, rubbing George’s ear between his fingers. The dog looked deliriously happy, tongue lolling lazily. “I try not to make assumptions about people.” 

“Okay, well, clearly you  _ do  _ because you just  _ assumed  _ I would know who what’s-his-face is.”

“George Springer.” 

David shot him a deadly look, but Patrick just smiled as he stood back up, clicking his tongue at the dog and walking to the kitchen, George loping happily after him. 

“I’m going to make us some breakfast before we hit the road,” he called over the sound of running water, washing his hands. 

David watched him from his spot on the couch, moving deftly through the kitchen, dodging George in what seemed to be a well-practiced dance. It occurred to him that it would be polite to offer to help as Patrick put a pan on the stove to heat and started chopping potatoes. 

“Is there anything I can help with?” David called reluctantly, secretly hoping the answer would be no. He couldn’t cook to save his life, and honestly? He was enjoying the view. 

Patrick shook his head, looking back at him over his shoulder. “Nah, I’m good. I’m just throwing together some home fries and omelettes. Shouldn’t take too long.” 

“Okay,” David replied softly, feeling an odd rush of fondness for this kind, quiet stranger. Patrick hummed quietly as he cooked, David recognizing snatches of songs here and there. He was methodical and precise as he chopped ingredients, tossed the potatoes in the pan, and set the table. 

A short time later, he called David over to the table, which was laden with omelettes, potatoes, a pot of coffee, and orange juice. 

“Wow,” David murmured. “This is really nice.”

Patrick shrugged, coolly nonchalant. “I don’t get to cook for other people very often so most of my meals are fairly utilitarian. It’s nice to do something different.” 

David hummed as he cut into his omelette, taking a bite, and  _ holy shit _ . The pasta wasn’t just a fluke. Patrick could really cook. 

“This is incredible,” David groaned, tilting his head back and closing his eyes in appreciation. “What’s in it?” He looked back up at Patrick, who had gone all pink and pleased- looking, ducking his head sheepishly and shrugging. 

“Just some fresh goat cheese that I make and some herbs from my garden,” he said with a wave of his hand. 

“Okay, well,” David swallowed, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “It’s the best omelette I’ve ever had. You should like. Sell your cheese. Do you sell your cheese?” 

Patrick tilted his head back and forth a bit. “Eh, not really. Me and some of the other nearby farmers have a bit of a bartering system. I give them goat cheese in exchange for fresh apples, things like that.” 

“I don’t have anything to give you in exchange, but I  _ absolutely  _ need to take some of that cheese back to Schitt’s Creek with me.” 

Patrick laughed, taking a sip of his orange juice, eyes twinkling. “Sure, David. I’m sure we can figure something out.” 

* * *

After helping Patrick clean up from breakfast and making sure he had all his belongings out of Roland’s truck, the pair readied themselves to head to Schitt’s Creek. 

David climbed into the passenger’s side of Patrick’s truck which, from the looks of it, was even older than Roland’s. He felt an inexplicable twinge of something akin to regret or sadness that his time with Patrick would be over in just a couple of hours. 

Something about his easy manner and gentle teasing had instilled a quietude within David, easing the ever-present thrum of panic and imparting a sense of peace he’d been scrambling for since he came to Schitt’s Creek. 

“Ready to go?” Patrick asked, buckling himself into the driver’s seat. 

David nodded, murmuring an affirmation and fixing his gaze out the window. 

Patrick turned the key in the ignition, and the engine made a sickly coughing sound. David whipped his head around to look at Patrick sharply. He didn’t know much about cars, but he knew they shouldn’t sound like  _ that.  _

Patrick gave him a nervous-looking smile and tried the key again. The engine groaned but wouldn’t catch. 

Patrick sighed, dropping his hand from the ignition to reach for the latch to disengage the hood. David watched nervously as Patrick circled to the front of the truck, lifting the hood and clunking around. 

After a few minutes, Patrick dropped the hood back into place, and crossed to lean in the passenger side window. He had a dark smudge of some sort of grease or grime across one cheekbone, and his hands were dirty. David was annoyed with himself for finding it endearing. 

“Whatever is wrong is a bit out of my depth,” he said apologetically, his eyebrows knit together with sincerity. “I’m going to have to call the mechanic.” 

David felt an inexplicable sense of relief flooding his chest as he nodded in understanding, and bit back a smile as he watched Patrick walk back up towards the house. He returned a few minutes later, his expression grim, and waved at David to get out of the truck. 

“Might as well grab your stuff and come inside. The mechanic is in Elm Glen and can’t get here until tomorrow,” he called. David heaved a sigh, jumping down and grabbing his bags out of the bed of the truck before following Patrick inside. 

Patrick sat heavily on the couch and rubbed at his forehead, smudging more grease there, a frustrated expression on his face. “I’m really sorry, David.”

David gaped at him. “ _ You’re  _ sorry? You’ve been incredibly generous to a complete stranger, feeding me and allowing me into your home, and now you’re stuck with me for another night.  _ I’m  _ the one who should be sorry.” David sat on the couch next to Patrick, pulling his toiletry bag onto his lap. “Also, sorry, but this is really bothering me- you have car grease all over your face.” 

He could feel Patrick’s eyes on him as he uncapped his bottle of micellar water, tipping it gently to dampen a cotton pad. 

The corner of Patrick’s mouth twitched, and he pulled back slightly when David started to lean in with the pad poised. “What is that?” he asked warily. 

David rolled his eyes. “It’s just a gentle cleanser to get this crap off your skin. It doesn’t bite, and neither do I.” David shimmied, cocking an eyebrow suggestively. “Most of the time, anyway.” 

Patrick scoffed, an attractive blush creeping across his features as he finally allowed David to lean in with the cleanser. 

“You actually have really nice skin,” David murmured as he gently wiped away the marks on Patrick’s cheek and forehead. “What’s your routine like?” 

Patrick’s brow wrinkled adorably. “My routine?” 

“You know. Your skincare routine?” David dampened another cotton pad to make a second pass across Patrick’s near-perfect skin. 

“I don’t have one,” Patrick shrugged. 

David sighed, rummaging in his bag for his toner mist. “Disappointing, but not surprising. Close your eyes.” Patrick obliged, and David spritzed his face. “This reduces redness and evens your skin tone. Not that you really need it, but…” 

“It smells nice,” Patrick murmured, eyes still closed. David hummed in agreement, taking the opportunity to look at Patrick closely without those huge, expressive eyes watching him back. He  _ did  _ have nearly perfect skin, smooth and unmarked save for a distinctive scar bisecting one of his light eyebrows. 

Unthinkingly, David reached out and brushed his thumb across the scar. “How did you get this?” he asked quietly. 

Patrick’s eyes popped open, and his blush deepened as he grimaced. “I’d like to have a really cool story that makes me seem tough and macho, but it’s pretty stupid.” 

David shrugged. “And? I’ve told you plenty of stupid and embarrassing things since I’ve been here.” 

Patrick laughed, and David leaned back, giving him more space. “Fair enough. It happened when I was a kid. I was trying to learn how to play the violin, and I must have tightened one of the strings too tightly because I’m playing - badly- and next thing I know, a string snapped and hit me in the eyebrow. I ran to my mom, blood pouring down my face, and she immediately started screaming because she thought I’d blinded myself.” Patrick shook his head, a far-away look in his eye as he recounted the memory. “Brow injuries bleed a lot more than necessary. I just needed a couple of stitches but you’d have thought I had a serious head wound the way it bled. My mom sold the violin within the week, and I’ve stuck with guitar ever since.” 

David listened to this story incredulously, then burst into laughter. “You’re right, that is kind of embarrassing. Not as embarrassing as me breaking my finger when I was learning to play the harpsichord, though.” 

Patrick’s sparse eyebrows practically leapt off his face. “The  _ harpsichord? _ ” he laughed. The rest of the afternoon passed this way, telling absurd stories of their childhoods and adolescence until the sun had long since dipped down and silence settled across the vast farmland surrounding the house. 

* * *

The mechanic showed up around noon the following day, tinkering around first with Roland’s truck down the street, then Patrick’s truck in the driveway. He drew up estimated costs for repairing both, and wandered back to his own vehicle while David and Patrick reviewed the documents. 

David felt his face burning with shame and embarrassment as he looked down at the price quote. It was itemized, using terms he didn’t fully understand, but the price list stood out starkly in black and white, clear as day. He cleared his throat, folding the receipt paper in half and fiddling with it, not meeting Patrick’s eye. 

“Look, I don’t have much to my name right now. I definitely can’t afford to pay to repair the truck I sto- borrowed. The truck I  _ borrowed _ . But I can pay for yours plus some gas money if you can drive me back to Schitt’s Creek. And at some point when I’m able to afford it, I can wire you more to pay you back for all your hospitality-” 

He was interrupted by Patrick placing a hand over his, gently taking the paper from him. “Hey. Don’t worry about it, seriously. We’ll get my truck fixed, get you back to town and figure out what to do from there. Okay?” 

David looked up, overwhelmed again by the genuine kindness in Patrick’s warm, dark eyes. 

“Okay,” he said softly, nodding. “Thank you. And I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, David,” Patrick said lightly, as if it were that simple, turning to walk back towards the mechanic. 

David had flirted with and fucked all kinds of people. Actors, athletes, artists. He’d slept with screenwriters and socialites, people who made him feel special for a night or an hour or a few months, at most. But in all of his experiences, David was certain he’d never met anyone like Patrick. He was generous and kind and beautiful in an unexpected way, and David felt that twinge of regret again as he watched Patrick talk to the mechanic. He stood watching the way he shoved his hands into his pockets, nodding along through the course of the conversation. The way the sun glinted off his hair, making it shine like burnished bronze. 

David quickly averted his gaze when Patrick started back towards him, pretending to examine his cuticles. Leaving the mechanic to repair the truck, Patrick somehow convinced David to accompany him while he did his chores around the small farm, and David found himself anxiously glancing around a small, dimly-lit barn. He was surprised that it didn’t smell as bad as he’d imagined, the sweet smell of hay and feed almost enough to cover the smell of the animals and their...byproducts. 

David generally wasn’t a fan of animals but the goats were cute, in a way. They had long, floppy ears and soft, velvety noses. He tentatively reached out to one of them, a sweet-faced, reddish-colored animal with a damaged ear. It was healed, clearly an old wound, but David’s heart hurt thinking about how painful it must have been at one point.

“Do they have names?” he asked, his voice hushed as the goat snuffled into his palm. 

“That’s Vincent Van Goat,” Patrick nodded towards the one David was petting. “And that one over there,” he pointed towards a dopey-looking white-blond goat at the back of the barn, “is Sebastian Baaaach.” 

David snorted. “You’re joking, right?” 

Patrick heaved a put-upon sigh, leaning over to pet Vincent’s head. “Unfortunately not. I adopted them from my vet, and it didn’t seem fair changing their names.” 

“How diplomatic.” 

“Well, you know. I’m a very generous person.” Patrick grinned at him, and David rolled his eyes, attempting to keep the smile off his face. He watched for a few moments while Patrick moved easily around the goats, filling their feed buckets and giving them fresh water. 

“Do you ever get lonely out here?” David waved a hand languidly, indicating the vast fields beyond Patrick’s property that seemed to stretch for miles. “With all this...space?” 

Patrick’s expression turned thoughtful, his lower lip jutted out adorably as he considered the question. “I don’t know,” he shrugged, rubbing Vincent’s damaged ear gently. “I’ve never really been alone before. I went from living with my parents to living with a roommate to living with my ex. It’s kind of a nice change of pace.” 

“That’s different,” David blurted before he could stop himself. Patrick looked up at him, his pale eyebrows knitted together in confusion. David swallowed, shaking his head slightly to clear his thoughts. “Being  _ lonely  _ and being  _ alone _ . They’re not the same thing,” he said quietly, turning his gaze to his hands, spinning the ring on his thumb. 

“No?” Patrick asked after a moment of silence, his voice hushed and somewhat hoarse. David looked up to find Patrick standing much closer to him than he had been a moment before, leaning on the post of the goat enclosure that separated them. David shook his head, and for a moment he was certain Patrick’s gaze flickered to his lips. “I guess you’re right.” 

The air felt charged with something, and David would swear Patrick was leaning forward across the fence slightly, but they both jumped back suddenly when a sharp knock rang out from the doorway of the barn. 

The mechanic was standing there, wiping his hands with a dirty rag. “Sorry to interrupt, boys, but you’re all set. Truck is good as new.” 

Patrick cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, the other shoved deep into the front pocket of his jeans. “Thanks, Bob. Appreciate it.” 

“No problemo. Have a safe drive back to town.” Bob trotted off, leaving an awkward silence in his wake. 

David scuffed the toes of his shoe against the worn concrete barn floor. 

“I guess I should-“

“Let me go get-“

They both began to speak at the same time, and David waved a hand to encourage Patrick to continue. 

“I, um. I’m going to get cleaned up really quick, then I’ll drive you back to Schitt’s Creek, if you want to make sure you have all your things?” 

David nodded, folding his arms across his chest and stepping back so Patrick could let himself out of the enclosure. 

* * *

“I live in the motel,” David blurted, cringing as he did so. Patrick glanced over at him, eyebrows raised, before turning his gaze back to the road. 

They were well on their way to Schitt’s Creek by now, passing the time listening to the oldies station which was the only thing they could get a strong enough signal for. Patrick knew his way to town, and David had vaguely waved off his inquiries about where, exactly, he lived in Schitt’s Creek. 

But as they drew nearer, David knew he’d have to confess eventually, and did so just as they passed the god-awful town sign. 

“You live in the motel?” Patrick repeated, his voice even. 

“Mmhmm. Yep. Yes. I do.” David nodded, bracing himself for Patrick to snicker or smirk, but instead he just shrugged, seemingly nonplussed, his eyes glued to the road. 

“Okay? Well I know where that’s at, so no worries.” 

David stared at him in disbelief. He didn’t know any people like Patrick before coming to Schitt’s Creek, and he sort of assumed the people in town were all slowly being poisoned by the water supply. But apparently, people like this just  _ existed _ . People who were kind for the sake of being kind, not because they wanted your money or your connections or the booze and pills you supplied. People who didn’t care if you lived in a dingy motel. People who would rather leave everything they’ve known behind to live in a goat farm in the middle of nowhere than continue living a lie. 

Far sooner than he would have liked, they were pulling up to the motel. It was early afternoon, and the place seemed quiet. It seemed likely that his family was at the cafe for lunch or elsewhere in town, since he didn’t hear the television blasting or his mother caterwauling or Alexis sniping about something from behind the thin doors. 

Patrick got out of the car with David, helping him through the door with some of his bags. As he suspected, his family was nowhere to be found. He wondered if they’d even realized he was gone. 

“Okay, well. I guess this is goodbye,” David said awkwardly after directing Patrick to set his bags on the bed. “I, um. Really appreciate everything you’ve done, and I wish I had some way to make it up to y-“ 

Patrick suddenly stepped forward, cupping David’s jaw and tilting his head up for a kiss. Patrick’s lips were soft and warm, and David’s heart thundered in his chest. And then, just as quickly as it had started, the kiss was over. 

Patrick swallowed, keeping his eyes closed as he pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against David’s. He was rubbing his thumb in a circle against David’s cheekbone, almost absently, and David could feel his pulse rabbiting beneath where his own hand rested on Patrick’s neck. The kiss had been short and chaste and should have felt completely unremarkable. Instead, David felt like his world had suddenly tilted on its axis and he clung to Patrick, certain that letting go would lead to his demise. 

Kissing Stevie had felt like setting a match to a trail of gasoline; it burned hot and bright and dangerous, destroying everything in its path but extinguishing itself quickly, leaving both of them feeling scorched.

Kissing Patrick lit David up in an entirely different way. He felt a smoldering deep in his chest, slow-burning fuel becoming banked embers promising long-lasting warmth. Pulling away from him ached in a way David wasn’t used to, the desire to stay close fueled by more than just body chemistry. 

Patrick finally spoke a moment later, his voice hoarse. “Sorry,” he whispered, dropping his hands from David’s face and taking a half-step back to put space between them. “That was- I shouldn’t have done that. I’ve just been wanting to for the last two days and I couldn’t let myself walk out that door without knowing what it was like to kiss you.” 

David nodded, tucking back a smile as he ghosted his fingers across his lips. “Well,” he said lightly. “I understand if you have regrets, but you don’t have to apologize for my sake.” 

Patrick’s face fell, his eyes wide. “David, no. Why would I have regrets?” 

David shrugged, dropping his gaze to the floor. “People typically do when it comes to me.” 

“David,” Patrick’s tone was serious as he stepped forward, framing David’s face in his hands again. “The only regret I’m feeling is that we don’t have more time to spend together.” 

“Oh,” David breathed. “Well. Will you look me up next time you’re in town?” 

Patrick nodded, his mouth twitching. “Mmhmm. And I hope I’ll be your first stop next time you decide to run away.” 

“I’m keeping my options open, but I’ll consider it.” 

“Okay, David,” Patrick said softly, and David could feel his smile against his mouth as he pressed another kiss to his lips.

* * *

That night, as David drifted off to sleep to the sounds of his sister snoring and his mother’s white noise machine, he dreamt of soft brown eyes and gentle, calloused hands and the sun glinting brightly off of auburn curls. It was the best night’s sleep he’d ever gotten in the motel. 

* * *

as an aside- this is the tweet that started it all 


	2. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though time doesn’t exist in Schitt’s Creek, for our purposes this epilogue takes place roughly two years after chapter one.

“I can’t believe not a single one of these vendors is selling a halfway decent under-eye serum,” David muttered, picking up a bottle of toner and eyeing it skeptically. He could practically hear Stevie rolling her eyes beside him, and pointedly ignored her. They were at a farmer’s market on the outskirts of Elmdale, scoping out potential vendors for his new store. 

“Well, I’m sure you’ll find  _ something _ that meets your incredibly reasonable standards,” she said quietly, her voice dripping with sickly-sweet sarcasm. 

David turned to her, retort on the tip of his tongue, when he was distracted by an odd look on her face. “What?” he hissed. 

“Not to alarm you,” she intoned, “but there’s a guy over there who is giving you some serious stink-eye.”

“Ew, where?” David cringed, turning to follow her gaze. His eyes landed on a familiar figure- a man with a mop of curly hair, hidden under a baseball cap. He raised one hand in greeting, and David bit back a smile. 

“Oh,” he breathed. “My God.”

“What?” Stevie asked sharply. “Do you  _ know  _ him?”

David nodded rapidly, feeling like a bobble head as he led Stevie through the crowd towards him. “Yeah, sort of. He’s the goat farmer who brought me home when I took Roland’s truck a few years ago.”

Stevie gasped, smacking David on the arm. “You never told me he was  _ cute! _ ”

“Okay,” David snapped peevishly, rubbing his arm, mostly for show since it didn’t actually hurt. “You and I had just had our  _ thing  _ so telling you I spent a long weekend with a cute farmer who gave me the best kiss of my life seemed a little cruel.” 

Stevie’s jaw dropped, but before she could reply or question David further, they arrived in front of Patrick’s table. They hung back, waiting patiently while he helped a customer with a sample of honey goat cheese. 

“This is really great paired with some walnuts, spread on some bread,” he was explaining, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he glanced up at David. The customer nodded, savoring their sample, and ended up buying one of every cheese flavor. 

When she was finally gone, Patrick turned to David and Stevie, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his Levis. 

“Hi,” he said, eyes twinkling. 

“Hi,” David murmured back quietly. 

Stevie cleared her throat pointedly, nudging David with her elbow. 

“Ugh, stop it! Stevie, this is Patrick, the farmer who helped me out a couple of years back when I ran- um. Ran out of gas. In Roland’s truck. Patrick, this is the devil incarnate, also known as Stevie.”

Patrick grinned, offering his hand to Stevie. “Nice to meet you, Stevie.”

“I see you’re selling your cheeses?” David waved a hand over Patrick’s display table, cringing internally over his awkwardness. 

Patrick laughed, nodding. “I am indeed.  _ Some guy  _ told me it was the best cheese he’d ever had and that it was good enough to sell, so. I decided to take his advice.” 

David felt a smile trying to escape from the corner of his mouth. “Mmm, well. This  _ guy  _ sounds like he knew what he was talking about.” Patrick laughed again, and they conversed for a while, catching each other up on the past couple of years. Stevie eventually wandered off with an incredibly obvious wink and thumbs-up, leaving them alone, and David felt his face warm with embarrassment. But then he noticed Patrick’s expression, his face pink and looking fond and pleased, and felt a sense of calm and quiet settle into his chest. He told Patrick all about the Blouse Barn negotiation and Rose Apothecary and was flattered that Patrick seemed genuinely impressed. They talked for so long they didn’t even notice the other vendors taking down their displays, products being boxed up and tables being collapsed around them, until Stevie returned and asked David if he was ready to go. 

David nodded reluctantly, and they took their leave after Patrick pulled him into a surprisingly tight hug and waved them off with a promise to visit next time he was in town. 

“You really like him, don’t you?” Stevie murmured, uncharacteristically soft as she drove them back towards town a short time later. 

David sighed, staring out the window, considering his answer. It was pathetic, he knew, to still be hung up on some guy he spent a couple of days with well over a year ago. But Patrick had made him feel differently than anyone he’d ever met, and it was hard for David to shake that off or forget it. 

“I don’t know. He just…” David finally responded, shrugging, gesturing loosely towards his chest. “He makes everything... quieter?” It wouldn’t make sense to most people, he supposed. But he knew it would make sense to Stevie. 

She hummed, acknowledging she knew what he meant, then turned to him with her characteristically wicked grin. “I like the sound of that. God knows we could all use a little more quiet from you.” 

* * *

When Patrick walked into Rose Apothecary two weeks later, hands shoved into the pockets of a faded pair of jeans and head ducked bashfully, David wasn’t entirely surprised; he’d told David he would make a point to stop by next time he was in town, after all. 

He  _ was  _ surprised, however, when Patrick informed him he’d sold his farm and his goats to a woman named Heather Warner, gotten a job with Ray, and moved to town, plans that had been in motion even before they’d reconnected at the farmer’s market. He was downright flabbergasted when Patrick offered to invest in the apothecary as a business partner, and in the same breath, asked David out on a date. 

He hadn’t told David about all this when they were talking at the farmer’s market because plans weren’t finalized and he didn’t want to make any assumptions about what him moving to town might mean for them. But, he asked tentatively, his eyes shining with sincerity and hope, if David was willing to give him a chance- 

“Yes. Yes to both,” David finally responded once he picked his jaw up off the floor, nodding dumbly, and Patrick grinned, taking his leave with a promise to return to pick David up for dinner a few hours later. 

David wasn’t sure if he believed in fate, but he was thankful for whatever forces of the universe that came together to ensure he ended up on Patrick’s doorstep that night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments on chapter one and your patience waiting for the epilogue!
> 
> Also, just to add- I know 2 years seems like a long time. But I firmly believe David still had some growing to do at the end of S1, and them reconnecting around the time Patrick showed up in canon seemed appropriate to me. Plus, as Patrick pointed out, he had never really been alone and I feel he, too, needed to grow a bit into himself before being with David long-term.

**Author's Note:**

> Look, full disclosure I don’t know anything about fixing cars or goat farming so those bits are vague for a reason. 
> 
> Title taken from the jingle for FarmersOnly dot com. Apologies if it gets stuck in your head for the rest of the day. 
> 
> Shoutout to Veronica for helping with the baseball reference AND the story of how Patrick got his scar. Thank you to Jane for planting the seed that made this idea grow. And thank you as always to Cali for being my sounding board and helping me brainstorm and always being up for having ~soft hours~
> 
> A short epilogue will be posted in a few days!


End file.
